


Lost the Plot

by amberguns



Category: DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Slow Build, Slow Burn, potential mentions of suicidal ideation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:54:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27558670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberguns/pseuds/amberguns
Summary: All the other nights that they’ve sat on this rooftop were passed in silence. Jason notes that acknowledgement seems to be making Tim lose his normal cat-like composure. His gloved hands reach to fiddle with his belt, hovering over his grappling hook uncharacteristically.Or that one where Tim tries to bring Jason home and accidentally develops...feelings.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Comments: 27
Kudos: 255





	1. Moderation

Tim finds Jason on a rooftop overlooking an alleyway. It's a mostly-safe place, somehow unusually quiet. It casts shadow on a silent spot crammed between some boating docks and a warehouse. As Tim sits down next to the hooded man, he thinks to himself-not for the first time-that the small space doesn’t fit the connotation that comes with being called an “alley”-at least in Gotham. Looking at Jason, he knows there is a metaphor in all this somewhere, but he clears his throat, deciding to dwell on it later. For now, he has some attempted bonding to do.

“What.” It isn’t a question.

Tim understands that people need their space. He also understands that men who hit you in the chest with sharp objects might _actually_ not like you. But what he knows and what he _feels_ don’t always line up. And this time, something seems wrong with how Jason is sitting, staring down the drop. Wrong in a way that nearly cuts into the normally professional face Tim prefers to wear on patrol.

“Are you okay?” Tim flinches. His question sounds monotone, even to his own ears.

“Don’t you have things to get done for Daddy-Bat?” Jason’s reply is automatic, something common lately, and, ultimately, something meant to stir the pot. Nothing that Tim isn’t used to brushing off with a shrug.

Tim catches himself pleading into the night air, _Try harder, Hood._

But Jason stays quiet and the silence stretches on for long enough that the smaller man begins to feel apologetic. Maybe Jason was trying to lighten the mood? He can’t always read people. Tim bites his lip, thinking of a way to word what he wants to express ( _come home come home come home_ ) but ending up empty handed. He tries anyway.

“I think I understand your situation a little bit--”

Jason turns towards him abruptly and Tim can’t help but stop speaking, fear prickling the back of his neck. _Stay focused; he won’t hurt you anymore._

“Unless this Cheer-Up-Red-Hood party comes with some new guns and a lot of women, I ain’t interested.”

Tim finally feels the growing ball of frustration in his chest explode outward. Something about the way he spit the words _women_ and _guns_ at him enrages Tim.

“Well I’m not giving you a gun. And I’m not a girl, but maybe your pity party committee can make due seeing as it's always hell bent on the bare minimum!”

The words exit Tim’s mouth before he’s gone over them in his head. A grave mistake that is extremely uncommon for him. There’s a long silence while Tim sits still, clenching and unclenching his fists, embarrassed and far too stubborn to admit that what he’d said was out of a burst of anger. This mistake will set him back months.

“Are you…” Jason seems unsure, trying to choose his words carefully, no longer looming over Tim. Somewhere in the back of Tim’s mind, he remarks that he’s never seen much of this side of The Red Hood. It hits him with a jolt, that maybe, this is the first time Hood is seeing Tim’s emotional complexities, too. Maybe his calculations were off. Maybe this won’t set them back! But then Jason speaks and ruins everything.

“Did you just tell me you have the hots for me by referring to yourself as ‘the bare minimum?’”

The explosion of frustration seems to come to a halt as Tim simultaneously freezes up, and attempts to block any emotion from flickering across his domino-clad face. Clearly he fails because Jason begins to laugh. Loudly.

_He’s messing with me. He wanted a reaction and he got it. I need to get back and rethink this._

Tim comes to the conclusion and all the fire in his system seems to go out, leaving smoke and something that feels a lot like bitterness. This time, as he stands up from his perch, he doesn’t let his frustration show.

“It's getting late. If you need anything, you know where to find us.”

“Back to business, huh? Alright then, Replacement. Thanks for the cheer up party.”

Tim snorts, softly, but not quietly enough that Jason misses it. And then he’s swooping away, as quickly as he possibly can. He doesn’t want Jason getting into his head again.

\---

“Do you believe in God?”

They’re above the alley again and Jason’s abrupt question seems to have caught Tim off guard. All the other nights that they’ve sat on this rooftop (besides the first) were passed in silence. Acknowledgement seems to be making Tim lose his normal cat-like composure. His gloved hands reach to fiddle with his belt, hovering over his grappling hook uncharacteristically.

Jason is suddenly curious about how he must act when he’s away from the bitter taste of Gotham city open air. Is the calm, composed blankness his real identity underneath the domino? Or is it the millionaire playboy he presents to the camera? Jason has a suspicion that it's neither, if the first rooftop visit was anything to go by. He thinks Tim might just be an angry little thing.

As Jason watches the calculating stare, he also wonders if maybe Tim is _too_ smart; the smaller man is searching for any tricks in the question, some deeper meaning to why Hood is asking it. But there isn’t one.

“No heavy evidence against a general God exists. But there isn’t heavy evidence _for_ one either.”

 _That’s not what I asked._ Jason decides to challenge Tim, pulling out information he’d learned the first and last time that he attempted to join Bruce and his Bats for a holiday dinner.

“Then why do you pray with the bats?”

Jason notes the look that flies across the Robin's face. Something sharp. But it's gone in less than a second-and suddenly, Tim looks too calm. Like someone has reached behind him and hit an off switch. And that's how Jason knows he’s crossed a line. But he can’t find it in himself to care. After all, he’s the one that's had to dance intimately with death. What could Tim possibly know that Jason doesn’t?

Tim’s body language is feline-like. He stands flat on his feet, back straight, hands seemingly relaxed at his sides. But he isn’t relaxed. Jason can tell that he’s angry. He’s seen what it looks like on the boy before. Jason thinks his previous assumption might be correct. Tim is secretly as much of a lit fuse as Jason is.

Tim answers quietly, but with conviction, “I pray because it works.”

As if that explains a damn thing ( _it doesn’t._ )

Tim is saying his usual, “you know where to find us” bit, and then he’s gone again, dancing away into the night, before Hood can process what he could have meant.

Jason momentarily regrets chasing Tim off. It's nice to have a partner for stakeouts. But then he remembers that Red Robin is really just the Bat’s spy and not actual company. His regret fades into annoyance as he lights a cigarette and vows not to think about Tim-or his cryptic tendencies-for the rest of the night.


	2. Disappointment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the overwhelming support! Sorry this is so short. The next chapters I post will be a lot longer. I'm just trying to get up what I have written in an organized manner.
> 
> Also, if you wondered, the title is based on BMTH's song "And the Snakes Start to Sing" because I am 100% that bitch.

This time it's Jason that leaves.

Tim stands on the edge of their usual building, stunned.

He’d still been annoyed about the God thing, days later. In his irritation, Tim had dropped onto their usual spot and asked coolly , “So? Why try to steal the tires, specifically?”

Jason didn’t even bother with banter. He just muttered “rich ass” and took off.

Out of habit, Tim had almost given his usual, “You know where to find us” before he dived into the shadows of the alley below.

\--

Tim refuses to check his emails. His stomach feels knotted--but he ignores them until it's too much stress to keep ignoring them. And then he waits for more emails to ignore. It's a sick cycle caused by a kind of stress he’s barely let himself know.

For the first time in a long time, he is unsure of something.

No amount of research is going to resolve this one. And that bugs him. That colors every aspect of his life. That makes him avoid emails and text messages and the Alley. On the field he makes a conscious effort to remain professional but in the confines of the manor, Tim’s mind is reeling. He’s upset Jason so many times prior. But this one, over something so ridiculous, something Jason probably isn’t even mad about anymore--it feels different somehow.

Of course Alfred notices. Alfred always notices.

“Master Timothy, you haven’t been eating nearly as much as you usually do.”

Tim looks up from a pile of newspaper clippings and runs an unsteady hand through his bangs. Today he hasn’t even bothered to style them back. He hasn’t bothered doing much of anything besides pouring a bowl of cereal. He’s at the kitchen counter, going through evidence files in his Star Wars pajama pants, attempting to look busy.

“I slept through breakfast this morning. Sorry about that, by the way.” Tim motions towards his cocoa puffs, sheepishly.

“I am aware. It's quite alright. Please make sure you’re awake for dinner.”

Watching the old man give him a knowing smile makes him want to confess something. He’s starting to feel like he’s keeping a secret. A secret so private that even he doesn’t know it.

Instead of a confession, Tim asks the first thing that comes to mind. 

“Do you miss Jason?”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Tim feels like maybe he has confessed.

Alfred sits down.

\--

Jason watches the cold October air sweep Tim’s cape up at the ends. 

“So why is he keeping tabs on me again?”

Surprise flickers across the smaller man’s face, only to be skillfully snuffed out. All that's left is a blank, unanswering stare. Business as usual. But Jason has already seen the flash of shock. He smirks, wondering if Tim knows how much he’s starting to crack around him.

“Batman didn’t tell me to keep tabs on you.”

It’s Jason’s turn to look surprised, clad in only a red domino.

“Then why are you here?”

Tim takes it the wrong way. Anger is written over and over again in how rigid his stance becomes.

“Whoa sorry, hold on. I meant, why do you hang around with me if you aren’t the Bat’s spy?”

The phrase “hang around” floats through Jason’s head far after he’s spoken, mocking him. Dumb phrase. Stupid.

Tim clears his throat, visibly calming down. No more stiff cat poses. He looks human again. Jason nearly laughs at this thought-Tim as some sort of cat-but stays quiet. He really doesn't want to set him off again.

“Alfred explained why you went for the tires. I’d have asked Bruce but I don’t trust him to deliver unbiased information.”

A few moments of awkward silence lingers between the two men before Jason coughs out a laugh.

“You _really_ got hung up on that huh, wonder boy?’”

“I don’t like not understanding you.”

For the second time that evening, Jason is surprised.

When Tim’s hand lightly touches his grappling hook, Jason’s surprise simmers out, and he’s left struggling to identify the emotions he’s feeling. _Disappointment?_ He’s losing his grip.

Tim mutters a lackluster excuse and hurls himself into the open night air.

Jason doesn’t even have a chance to say good night.


	3. Patience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to keep the smaller chapters, but I want to update extremely often to make up for it. I hope that's okay with everyone :) I'm in school/work and this is just easier for me. Please leave comments/kudos if you have the time! they really help me keep writing.

He’s tapping his unlit cigarette against the steering wheel of a ‘97 Camaro when he spots Tim walking along the curb. Tim’s dressed in a red hoodie with some emo band T-shirt shoved over the top. Jason is in the middle of denying that it's a good fit when Tim looks up and makes eye contact with him through the windshield.

Tim’s gaze shifts from a blank expression to what Jason thinks is best described as “horrified.” He’s cranking down his window before Tim can run off, shouting, “Replacement!” Tim still looks like he might run, but visibly stops himself at the last minute. His shoulders stiffen and he readjusts his backpack, walking towards the green of Jason’s car in a military clip.

Tim looks exhausted and small without his Red Robin suit, his backpack crammed with college textbooks and his under eyes dark. Jason didn’t initially notice the empty coffee mug in Tim’s hand, but now that he does, his mind is made up.

“Want a ride?” Jason has stopped questioning the nature of their rooftop visits. He suspects the younger man might enjoy the company of someone who isn’t a bat, despite all of Tim’s theatrics. Or he’s projecting on the younger man. Either way, Jason can work with...whatever this is.

He reaches across his center console to manually unlock the right-hand car door. It’s a bit of a struggle reaching the other side’s lock and Jason is aware that he might look a bit stupid. Luckily, Tim hops in without a word of insult, placing his backpack and empty mug at his feet. Jason’s relief is short-lived.

“Your car is green.”

Jason laughs.

“Not everything I own has to be red.” His response isn’t meant as an attack, but Tim still goes a little pink at the ears. Jason attempts to soften the mood by lightly nudging Tim with his elbow. He sways in his seat at the contact. _Damn the kid _is_ exhausted._

“Okaaaay. Where am I taking you this fine morning?”

“You don’t want to run me by the manner.” It's a statement, not a question.

“Not fucking really.”

Tim’s rigid posture deflates and he runs a hand through his hair, looking more tired than Jason’s ever seen him.

“Starbucks. There’s one within walking distance of the manner.”

“Of course there is. You die with three Starbucks in the city and when you wake up there are a thousand more. Swear, it's the only shit that fucking changed around here.”

An amused grin traces Tim’s lips as Jason puts his cigarette down in the ashtray. He turns his key in the ignition and pushes a cassette tape into it’s player, and fiddles with the volume controls, before turning to man the wheel.

\--

Tim doesn’t recognize the album that Jason’s playing, but he thinks the band is nice. He assumes it’s likely an older band. Unless Jason is somehow finding top hits being produced on cassette players. Tim doubts that.

“What’s this song called?”

“Everlong.” Jason taps his steering wheel to the beat as they wait at a red light. Tim watches his easy mood with interest. This is a Jason Todd he doesn’t know. One that apparently listens to 90s bands and owns a tacky green sports car.

Tim stares down at the coffee mug rolling around his feet. It boldly states, “Death Before Decaf” on the front, with the small decal of a skull underneath to emphasize it’s statement. As Jason takes a right turn, his backpack jostles against it, making tinny clinking noises. They’re barely audible above the singer’s low voice. Tim wonders if Jason is learning about him, as well.

After their last few visits, Tim had taken on the task of rewriting his entire plan. Recalculating everything wasn’t easy. Tim had thought it would take months of charting Jason’s mood swings to get to a point that they could be called friends, let alone acquaintances. He certainly didn’t expect to be given a ride home after their previous rough interactions.

 _This changes things._ Only, Tim isn’t sure how. Maybe he’s miscalculated something in Jason’s personality. He makes a mental note to come back to that thought later. He knows his exhaustion limit, and he’s reached it.

As Jason drives, Tim feels himself relaxing heavily into his seat. He’d been up all night on patrol and then crammed in three classes. Due to what he presumes is his own loss of sanity at the hands of exhaustion, the lull in conversation doesn’t feel awkward or stiff. Tim’s content to listen to the music that’s playing and contemplate the homework he’ll crack open at Starbucks.

The ride goes by much faster than expected. Jason drops him off at the coffee shop with nothing but a polite salute.

As Tim watches Jason drive away into the cold morning sunlight, he makes a note to download Everlong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written a year after the first two chapters so please forgive any tone differences. Also catch me on tumblr @everlong and Twitter @coffeelvl. And yes, I do self-insert music and cars I like. No, I will not take constructive criticism on that lmao. I’ve been a fic writer since 2008 so you have to let me keep some of my bad habits.


	4. Epiphany

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: I've had a family death and may update on this a bit randomly over the next week or so. Sorry about that, everyone.

Tim’s excitement over the car ride is short-lived. Weeks go by with no sign of the Red Hood at their usual meeting spot. It only makes sense. The car ride had been too personal. Tim assumes Jason needs to set more space between them. He can handle that. He can handle any set-back. He has back up plans for a reason.

“You aren’t handling this well.” Stephanie Brown flicks her hair over her shoulder and pins Tim to his desk chair with a sharp stair. “This Jason thing.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” She looks bored, picking at her chipped purple nail polish, as if the subject is beyond her. But Tim knows she cares. She wouldn’t have brought it up, otherwise.

“Do you think he misses Alfred?”

“This is exactly what I mean.” She drops the boredom act quickly and stands up from Tim’s bed, hands finding her hips. “You’re barely eating and you don’t even show an interest in school. That’s not like you.”

“How do you know I don’t show an interest in my classes?”

“Cass has _eyes_ , Tim.”

It was true; Steph’s girlfriend was in most of his classes. He just didn’t think she’d been keeping track of his grades. Typical bat-family. Tim resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“Tim, look…” Steph places her hand on his shoulder, ignoring the blank look he throws her. “Just tell me why this is so important to you. I’m your best friend. I want to understand.”

“I don’t understand why it isn’t important to everyone else.”

“Timothy.” Oh, he’d done it now. “Jason is happy on his own turf. Why are you hell-bent on bringing him to the manor? You know what he’s been through with Bruce. It’s only going to end painfully.”

“Because…” Tim trails off. He’s at a sudden loss for words. All those emails he keeps ignoring are stacking up in his peripheral and he suddenly feels like he can’t breathe. In his mind, Alfred’s stare overlaps Stephanie’s and he tries to shake away the double vision.

“Because…?” Steph echoes, concern somehow completely encompassing the one word.

Why is this so important to him? Doesn’t he have a reason? Tim mulls over the question before coming to a conclusion that stuns him.

“I want him to feel wanted.” It comes out in a whisper, one he feels like he’s speaking more to the stars than to the concerned blond woman in front of him.

Stephanie removes her hand and sits back on the bed, hard. Her look is pensive and Tim doesn’t like it one goddamn bit. After what feels like a decade, she looks at his carpet and mutters, “Oh my God. You love him.”

Even though he knows she’s likely teasing him, Tim feels his stomach drop to the floor.

\---

The ice of December air hits Jason as he glides from building to building. It’s been a month since he sat with Tim on the rooftop. He wonders if Tim would even show up if he went there tonight. Probably not. Tim’s a smart kid and has likely caught on that Jason is avoiding him.

His patrol ends uneventfully and he opts for retiring at his usual safehouse. His plans for the night include a beer in hand and his television blaring, only, something’s off with his security system.

He’s had bugs before but this one seems too clean, cutting through the locks in his kitchen without raising a single alarm. No other room’s security is disturbed and the window above the sink is splattered in drying blood. Whoever dismantled his alarms must have been hurting.

Jason’s stomach clenches with anxiety and he pulls a gun from its holster, clicking off the safety and going in through the window like his potential-robber had. So much for a laid back night.

He’s silent as the night air that seeps in behind him, crawling from the sink’s counter to the tile floor. Each step he takes towards his living room and hallway, are taken with bated breath. Whoever is in his house is a quiet motherfucker, but they didn’t do much to conceal the trail of blood lining his carpet. Dammit, he just had it steam-vacuumed, too.

By the time he reaches his bedroom, he’s convinced that whoever is in his house is either dead or mortally injured. His theory is only proven right when he notices the bloody, bundled up person lying in his white sheets.

Jason approaches the figure slowly, nudging the blankets off of it with his gun. His breath hitches in his throat as he takes in the sight of the barely breathing boy crumpled in a mess of gore on his bed.

It’s Tim.

\---

Tim comes to in what he can only describe as broken pieces of a bigger picture. At first there’s a burst of light and a gun waving in his face. His vision wavers from black to bright white to black again and he decides it’s not worth the fight to keep conscious.

The second time his memory captures something, it's the prick of what he assumes is an IV. A hushed “It’s okay” is the only indication that Tim must have verbally responded to the pain. He’s out again before he can ponder why the voice sounds so familiar.

The third time is accompanied by the feeling of sinking into water. At first he’s panicked, fighting the person dunking him, terrified for his life. But the voice from before soothes him, washing over Tim as the warmth of the water rushes over his stitched, mostly-healed wounds. He stops fighting and lets whoever is helping him rub a sponge over his back and arms before the silence of unconsciousness pulls him down down down again.

The fourth time is like being jolted awake. Tim screams and screams, before someone much larger than him holds onto him, whispering, “Its okay” over and over like they’re trying to cast a spell.

After his voice runs raw and he stops shaking, Tim finally opens his eyes. He’s wearing clothing too large for him, in a bed that he isn’t familiar with. He tries to move but arms hold him down. Tim attempts to clear his head of the obvious hallucination he’s suffering, but after a minute it doesn’t seem to be a hallucination.

As he once again succumbs to sleep, Tim accepts that the person wrapped around him is Jason Todd.


	5. Jolt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the hiatus. I was dealing with a family loss and I also got engaged. It’s been a strange start to the year. Anyway, your boy is back and he'll deliver more than one chapter this week hopefully.
> 
> Disclaimer that I’m not a medical professional but I am speaking from research combined with personal experience (I got real hurt once oof.)
> 
> TW for stitches and concussions

Tim takes shallow breaths. In through his nose, out through his mouth.  
In, out. Repeat. Stitches tug at his chest. They pull taught and he wonders if he’ll ever feel normal again. Will it always feel like his skin is too small?

Tim knows that something has compromised his thought process but he can’t remember what. He also knows he had some sort of goal in mind when he set out on patrol but any memories before patrol or after are blurry or all together gone.

He tries to grasp at the loose strands of memory: the glimpse of a box cutter in some thug’s hand, then a light reflecting in his eyes, blinding him. He’d been stabbed. Tim had seen stab victims. He’d read their autopsy reports. He should consider himself lucky to be laying on Jason’s couch, alive.

His fingers graze along the stitches over the tan shirt that Jason has dressed him in.

_Is it a surface wound?_

With that much blood though, he must have been slashed. And through the muscle, considering he couldn’t stand up straight without being in immense pain. Jason had also mentioned “6 weeks” at some point, in regards to recovery, he assumed. How long had he been here?

And why the messed up memory? Was it shock?

_No, no that’s right._

He’d asked this before. Jason had muttered, _“Grade three concussion. Somehow hit your head.”_ Jason didn’t talk too much but he answered Tim’s questions and redressed his wounds.

 _What else happened?_ But Tim can only pull up a memory of dishes crashing as he climbed in through Jason’s window. Blood smudged all over his phone and the wall and the floor, his head hurting like hell. After that it’s like being underwater. His memories are like dreams and Tim decides he needs to sleep again.

\---

Jason hears muttering and shuffling from the couch. From his vantage point at the kitchen island, he sees that Tim’s attempting to adjust his pillows. Tim’s arms pull at the stitches on his chest and he winces. At Tim’s sharp intake of breath, Jason puts _Of Mice and Men_ down next to his second cup of coffee. 

Jason eyes Tim, waiting for the smaller man to ask him why he’s here in Jason’s usual open-concept safehouse. Or why his thoughts are jumbled.

Or why he isn’t wearing a domino.

Jason remembers being mildly amused at that one. Tim had been down for a week by that point and Jason had laughed and replied, _“You don’t need it right now.”_ Tim had blinked back, confused. Jason had tried to hide his frown.

This time, Tim just looks away, too defiant to ask for help. His eyes appear less glassy than usual and his body language is taught.

_He’s fully aware then._

Best to leave him to it. Jason picks his novel back up. Tim never speaks when he’s in his right mind, just avoids eye-contact. Babs will want to know that these moments are happening more frequently. 

_God bless Barbara._

She’d been so scared; he could hear it in her voice. Jason wonders if he’d been scared too, but he doesn’t want to think about it right now. They were lucky it looked worse than it was.

He sneaks another glance at Tim and sees that he’s asleep again.

_God bless medication._

Jason downs his coffee.


End file.
